Taeyong and Gyunghui have been working together for weeks now. Sometimes Gyunghui comes to Taeyong, but more often Taeyong finds himself in the woods. He doesn’t mind the hike; he knows the way well by now, and can sort of let his feet take him to the cottage while his mind wanders.

They’re close now; he’s sure of it. It’s hard, because they don’t have anybody to test it on (and Taeyong’s honestly still not sure about the ethics of that; Eunyong had one of her lawyer friends draw up a consent form, but it only made Taeyong feel a little bit better), but they’ve come up with a mini ritual, as well as a little elixir for the patient to take home and drink a week later. The patient would have to come back every two weeks by their figuring, which isn’t very convenient, but—well. It’s better than nothing, Taeyong supposes.

Gyunghui is waiting for him in her front doorway when he finally emerges from the undergrowth. “Taeyong!” she calls. “I got a message from an old friend! Someone in her town asked if she could help with their case. She referred them to us!”

“What, right now?” Taeyong asks, feeling a shock of anxiety run up his spine.

“No.” There’s laughter in Gyunghui’s voice. “Tomorrow. They’ll come to us. They’re not that far along, so travel won’t be hard.”

“Okay.” Taeyong relaxes a little bit, stepping up onto the porch. “Well, we’d better prepare.”

They spend all day going over the ritual, gathering materials, and running through everything they’ve done to make sure there’s nothing they’re missing. They make the elixir beforehand—just a concoction of goldenrod, dandelion leaf, and lavender brewed in water. Taeyong stays late; he calls Johnny to let him know he won’t be home for dinner, and walks back in the dark. 

He doesn’t say anything to Johnny, but Johnny seems to know, anyway. He pulls him close in bed, pressing his lips to the back of his head, and murmurs against his hair, “No matter what happens, it’s going to be okay. You’re doing something no one else can, and that’s enough.”

Taeyong shivers. He wishes it were true.

The next morning dawns cold and rainy. Johnny wakes early with him; he’s taking a half day at the bakery so he’ll be home when Taeyong is done. He offers to take the day off completely and come with him, but Taeyong declines. He doesn’t want to overwhelm their patient, and he doesn’t want Johnny to have to watch if they fail. He lets Johnny kiss him for good luck, and then he hurries off into the mist, bundled in a raincoat.

Gyunghui already has everything set up when he arrives; she offers him tea, which he sips while they both sort of fidget with things that are already in place as they wait. And then, the doorbell rings, and they both lurch to their feet.

“Hi, Jihye,” Gyunghui greets warmly. “Come in out of the rain. This is Taeyong.”

“Hello,” Taeyong says softly, bowing first to Jihye, and then the boy behind her. He looks around high school aged; Taeyong can see the fear shifting under the surface of his expression. It’s almost like looking in a mirror.

“It’s good to meet you, Taeyong,” Jihye says. “This is Siwoo.”

“Welcome, Siwoo. Please, let’s all sit and have some tea while we discuss the treatment.” Gyunghui leads them into the kitchen. Taeyong offers Siwoo a smile, which he barely returns. Gyunghui brings her glass teapot to the table and puts it in the center next to some scones, gesturing for everyone to take a seat. “I have to warn you, Siwoo, this isn’t something we’ve tried on anybody else. We have a little consent form for you to sign, detailing the risks, but the gist is that this is untested, and could potentially worsen your condition.”

“It’s not entirely untested, though, is it?” Jihye pipes up. “Didn’t you try something similar on Taeyong?”

Taeyong cringes, while Gyunghui sends her a sharp look. “Vaguely similar,” Gyunghui says. “And it didn’t work.”

“Then—how is Taeyong here?” Siwoo asks, brow furrowed.

Gyunghui continues glaring at Jihye. “He got lucky. His love was returned.”

“Oh.” Siwoo stares down into his teacup, frown deepening. 

“This treatment is much different, though,” Gyunghui says briskly. “We’ll perform a quick ritual, using a white candle anointed in eucalyptus essential oil and citronella incense, and then we send you home with a little elixir to drink in a week, to keep the flowers small and weak. You’re to come back in two weeks’ time.”

“We don’t know if it will work,” Taeyong emphasizes. “Please understand that. It could speed things along instead; it won’t create any new problems, but it may only make your flowers more resilient.”

“I’m willing to try it,” Siwoo says. Taeyong sees the same fierce determination there that he felt three years ago, sitting in this very kitchen. He deflates a little; as long as Siwoo knows what he’s in for, Taeyong can’t stop him. “But—I don’t know how I’m going to pay you,” Siwoo continues. “I have a job, but I don’t think it’s enough.”

“Oh, please,” Gyunghui says. “We’re not going to charge you. We don’t even know if it works. If anything, we should be paying you.”

Siwoo flushes a little. “No, that doesn’t seem right.”

“Then we’ll agree that it’s an even exchange,” Gyunghui says, nodding. “Do you have any questions?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “So I sign here? Can I have a pen?”

“Here.” Taeyong hands it to him, and then gives him a copy of the form when he does. “Okay, should we move this upstairs?”

“Yes.” Gyunghui sweeps her skirt up, standing, and Jihye stands, too, quickly attaching herself to her side, and no doubt muttering apologies. Taeyong pushes himself to his feet and waits for Siwoo.

“You had it, too?” Siwoo asks as they trail behind the women.

“Yes, a few years ago,” Taeyong says. “I would’ve let it kill me, so I get it. Not wanting to get the surgery.”

Siwoo nods. “But you ended up okay.”

“My—my husband, he also had hanahaki disease, for me. We just didn’t know at the time,” Taeyong explains, feeling a little awkward. “I’m sorry this is happening to you. I really hope this works. I don’t want what almost happened to me to happen to someone else.”

Siwoo rolls his eyes, letting out one shaky cough. “How noble of you.” His tone is deeply sarcastic; without another word, he faces forward and takes the stairs two at a time, leaving Taeyong behind.

Taeyong is shocked for a moment, but then he just sighs. Not everybody reacts to fear with sadness, he reminds himself. Not everyone is like you. Siwoo has every right to be angry, especially when someone like you is standing right in front of him.

Gyunghui has a little treatment table set up; she casts the circle as usual while Taeyong stands by with the supplies. Jihye watches, holding Siwoo’s shirt and jacket, absently worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. When the circle is cast, Taeyong brings the small anointed candle and lit incense to Siwoo, with Gyunghui on the other side. She murmurs the banishing incantation (some form of “illness be gone”, over and over), and takes some of the ash from the incense that’s collected in the tray and spreads it across his chest. Taeyong holds the candle and incense over Siwoo, and Gyunghui supports his hands with hers. They both continue to chant quietly to themselves until the candle is burnt out. 

Gyunghui closes the circle, snuffing out the candles as she goes. The room is dim, and when the last candle is out, Siwoo sits up slowly.

They are silent, watching him. A minute passes; Taeyong sets down the candle holder and the incense burner on the counter.

“Did it work?” Jihye asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” Gyunghui replies. “We’ll see, I suppose.” She hands Siwoo the elixir—a pretty little glass bottle with a cork stopper. “Why don’t we have some lunch? At least stay for a couple of hours so we can monitor Siwoo for a while.”

“Siwoo?” Jihye asks.

“Fine,” Siwoo replies, and leads them all back downstairs.

Taeyong is cutting vegetables at the sink, back to the room, when he hears it. Siwoo begins to cough. It’s not the dry cough he heard earlier, before the ritual, but deep and resounding. Taeyong jumps, slicing his thumb with the knife in his shock, and whirls to see Siwoo bent over. Maybe it’ll be dead flowers, Taeyong thinks, clinging to hope. Not the roots, but surely the petals. And then we’ll know. And everything will be okay.

Siwoo raises his head, and Taeyong sees crumpled pink azaleas in his palms. His eyes are burning with fury and grief. “It didn’t work,” he spits, and Taeyong feels the raw helplessness in his voice rake across his heart, a familiar echo. Siwoo whirls around and hurries out of the room. Taeyong hears the front door slam, and a few moments later, a muffled scream.

“I’ll go after him,” Jihye says quickly, rushing out as well.

Taeyong looks at Gyunghui, and she just shakes her head. “I don’t know what we did wrong,” she murmurs.

“I don’t, either.” Taeyong feels empty. He’s glad Siwoo is angry, in any case. It’s better than forgiveness. 

“Oh, you’re bleeding!” Gyunghui grabs a napkin and crosses the room to him, taking his hand and wrapping the paper around his thumb where he cut himself. Taeyong watches numbly as she presses on the wound to stop the bleeding. They stand there for a minute, listening to the rain on the roof. Taeyong’s breath is coming short; he knows it’s just panic, but the panic is, of course, convincing him it’s something worse. Gyunghui guides him to a chair and sits him down. “You’re okay,” she says softly. “I should’ve sent you home right away. You didn’t need to see that.”

“I’m fine,” Taeyong forces out, desperately trying to control his breathing. “I’m just disappointed.”

“Okay,” Gyunghui says, tone placating. “Once they’re gone, I’ll walk you home.”

Taeyong’s breathing gradually slows; his thumb gradually stops bleeding. He’s just finished wrapping a bandaid around it when Jihye comes back in. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I hope you can understand that he’s just really upset.”

“Of course,” Gyunghui says. “I know it won’t mean much to him, but please tell him we’re sorry.”

“I will.” Jihye pauses in the doorway. “Thank you for trying. You did more for him than I could.”

“Get home safe,” Gyunghui says.

Taeyong watches Gyunghui clean up the kitchen, unable to convince himself to move and help. Gyunghui doesn’t seem to mind, though; when she’s done, she helps him into his coat and gestures him out the door. 

He stands on her porch, adjusting his hood while he waits for her to lock her door. Glancing around, he notices some shattered glass in the corner by the steps. Looking closer, he sees the wet lavender buds and dandelion leaves mixed with the deep yellow of the goldenrod. It’s clear Siwoo had smashed the bottle of elixir in anger.

Gyunghui walks Taeyong home in the rain. He feels little again, like when Eunyong would come pick him up from school after a difficult day. She wouldn’t speak, but she’d link their arms, and Taeyong would close his eyes and let her drag him all the way back to their front door. Now, he just keeps his head down, watching the heels of Gyunghui’s boots as she leads him out of the forest and onto the road.

Johnny is in the kitchen, stirring something in a large pot when he opens the door. He takes one look at Taeyong and presses his lips together, turning the fire off and placing the lid on the pot. “Thanks, Gyunghui,” he says, waving. 

“Have a good rest of your day,” Gyunghui says, voice soft. She closes the door behind Taeyong.

Johnny is at his side in an instant, tugging him free of his wet raincoat and then folding him into his sturdy chest.

“What happened?” he asks.

“We—” Taeyong begins to say, but he can’t finish the sentence. He starts crying, and Johnny just makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat and walks them over to the living room where they both sit on the couch. Taeyong buries his face in Johnny’s shoulder while Johnny tucks a soft blanket around him.

“It’s okay,” Johnny says. “You have plenty of time to get it right. It’s not your job to save everybody, though.”

“He was so angry,” Taeyong whispers. “I felt so horrible—how could I stand there and tell him I understood? Offer him some shoddy cure, flaunting my happy ending in his face?”

“That’s not what you’re doing,” Johnny soothes. “Of course he’s angry. I know I was. You were too, though you didn’t really show it. But that doesn’t mean he’s angry at you .”

“I just wish I knew what we were missing,” Taeyong says. “We used so many different healing agents. The flowers should’ve been withered when he coughed them up.”

“It’s okay,” Johnny repeats. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You can’t blame yourself, though. It’s this stupid, evil disease.”

Taeyong blinks. “We need something to keep out the bad things—not just things for health and cleansing, but something to banish evil,” he says. “We need something harsh, to kill off the flowers.” He looks wildly at Johnny, who only gives him a confused look in return. “Myrrh. Myrrh incense, I think that’s it.” Taeyong shakes the blanket off and presses a swift kiss to Johnny’s lips. “Sorry, I know I sound insane. I’m gonna chase after Gyunghui, she can’t have gotten far. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Wh—okay.” Johnny watches him, bewildered, as he struggles into his shoes and a coat.

Taeyong runs down the lane and out onto the street. He sees Gyunghui rounding the corner, and he pelts after her. “Wait, Gyunghui!” He turns the corner too, and sees her stopped in her tracks. “Wait, I just thought of something.”

“Yes?” 

He draws up to her, panting. “We’re missing something to banish the sickness—something to make the flowers wilt. I was thinking myrrh. We could use incense, mix it with the citronella.”

Gyunghui’s eyes grow wide. “I think you’re right,” she says. “I’m going to go call Jihye, see if Siwoo will give us another chance.”

“Do you want me to come back with you?” Taeyong asks.

“No.” Gyunghui laughs. “All we can do is wait. I’ll phone you if anything changes. No, go spend some time with Johnny. We’ve been so busy with this, and it’s fine for me, because I live alone, but I can tell he misses you. He loves you a lot, you know.”

“I know,” Taeyong replies. “Okay, let me know.” 

He walks back home as fast as he can. Johnny’s back to cooking; he gives Taeyong a bemused smile when he reenters the house. “Everything okay?”

“I think we’ve done it,” Taeyong replies. “We’ll have to wait and see—but I think maybe this time it’s right.”

“I hope so,” Johnny says. “Come help me set the table. Lunch is ready.”

Taeyong just laughs, and pauses to give Johnny another kiss on his way to retrieve bowls from the cupboard.

= = =

Siwoo declines their request to try again. Taeyong can’t really blame him, but it’s disheartening all the same. This time, he’s sure they’re sitting on the cure, but they don’t have anyone to help them confirm it. And then, Taeyong’s closing up the flower shop when the bell jingles and someone enters.

“Sorry, we’re closed for the day,” he says without looking up.

“Taeyong?” It’s a familiar voice; Taeyong pops his head up from behind the counter and sees Taeil’s younger sister, Taehui, shifting from foot to foot just inside the door. “Can I talk to you?”

“Oh, sure.” Taeyong dusts off his hands. “What is it?”

“I heard—I heard you have a cure for hanahaki disease,” she says.

“It’s not quite a cure, and we don’t know if it works, but essentially, yes. Why?”

“I’m in love,” she says, giving him a pleading look. “And she doesn’t love me back, and I don’t want the surgery, but I also don’t want to die, so I thought—please don’t tell Taeil.”

“I won’t,” Taeyong assures her. “You probably should. So, no one knows?”

She shakes her head. “I know it’s silly, since I’m a bit old for this nonsense, but—”

“It’s not silly,” Taeyong assures her. “Let me call Gyunghui—we have all the supplies at her place—and then we can walk to her cottage together and see what we can do for you.”

Taeyong talks to Gyunghui as he finishes closing up shop. She says she’ll put everything in order and let Johnny know what’s happening, so once he’s finished, he locks up and leads Taehui into the woods. It’s getting a little late, so the sun is setting, but luckily Taehui isn’t too ill yet, so she keeps up with Taeyong’s pace.

They run her through the same warnings, though Taeyong knows she’s already well aware. Once she’s signed the form, they bring her upstairs and run through the same ritual. While Gyunghui is casting the circle, Taeyong stands at Taehui’s side and holds her hand. She squeezes, giving him a weak smile. 

Taeyong balances the two sticks of incense in one hand, candle clutched in the other, and chants again with Gyunghui. He visualizes the flowers wilting and hopes with all his heart it works. 

The room is dark by the time they’re done and Gyunghui has blown out all the candles. Taeyong helps Taehui back down the stairs, and they drink tea quietly while they wait. “If nothing happens for a couple hours, Taeyong will just walk you home,” Gyunghui tells her. “And you’ll just check in with him over the next few days.”

And just like with Siwoo, not twenty minutes after they completed the ritual, Taehui starts coughing. Taeyong freezes, watching anxiously, but when the coughs subside, Taehui is smiling. In her hands are wilted lotus petals, small and frail, already browning at the edges. “They were full and strong this morning,” she says, eyes shining.

They all stare for a second, and then Gyunghui squeals and hugs Taeyong around the shoulders. Taeyong laughs when her hair tickles his chin, and then he can’t stop laughing. Taehui is giggling too, partially in disbelief. The sound of their joy drowns out the whistling of the kettle.

Taeyong escorts Taehui home, making her promise to come see him in the shop in a couple of days to check in. “Remember to take your elixir in a week!” he adds, waving as she walks down to her house.

Johnny is waiting anxiously at home, sipping a decaf coffee at their table, leftovers coasting in the oven. He searches Taeyong’s face when he comes in; Taeyong takes his time hanging up his coat, trying to contain his glee.

“Well?” Johnny asks.

Taeyong turns to him, a grin spreading across his face. “We can’t be sure quite yet—but I think it worked. I think we did it.”

“You’re joking.” Johnny sets down his mug and sweeps Taeyong up in a hug. Taeyong shakes his head, giggling when Johnny kisses his nose. “You’re joking! That’s amazing news!” They trip over each other’s legs and Taeyong ends up pressed between Johnny and the kitchen counter. “You’re so smart,” Johnny says softly. “Can’t believe I’m married to the best witch in the world.”

“Shut up, that’s so disrespectful to Gyunghui, and also, like, your own mother,” Taeyong says, laughing and pushing him away. “You can shower me with love later. I’m hungry.”

Taehui comes to check in multiple times over the next couple of weeks, but her condition remains stable. The elixir seems to do its job, and the follow-up ritual goes smoothly as well. She’s not cured, but the progress of the flowers is halted. She’ll live well, and maybe get over her love and find someone else who loves her back. 

One day, a few weeks later, Taeyong receives a call from Gyunghui when he’s at the shop with his mom. “Hey, are you free?” she asks.

“I can be,” Taeyong says, glancing around the relatively empty shop. “Why?”

“Siwoo is here. Jihye told him about our success and he wants to try again.”

“Oh.” Taeyong almost drops the phone. “Yeah, I can be there in thirty minutes. Let me just tell my mom.” He hangs up, and gets his mother’s attention. “We have a patient,” he explains. “Gyunghui needs my help. Will you be okay here?”

His mother smiles kindly. “I’ll be fine.” 

Taeyong rushes to Gyunghui’s cottage, tripping over tree roots as he goes. The front door is unlocked when he arrives, and Gyunghui is, as usual, serving tea in the kitchen. She puts the pot down when she sees him. “Wonderful. Let’s begin.”

As she casts the circle, Taeyong hovers awkwardly by Siwoo. 

“Will it hurt?” Siwoo asks, voice uncharacteristically small.

“No,” Taeyong says. “If it does, you should tell us.”

Siwoo nods. “I’m sorry I was so angry,” he says. “I was just scared.”

“I know,” Taeyong replies, giving him a smile. “It’s okay to be afraid. You’d be kind of stupid not to be, you know?” Siwoo huffs out a breath of laughter. “But you don’t get to give up.”

Siwoo nods again, firmly, as Gyunghui finishes casting the circle and joins Taeyong at his side. Taeyong watches Siwoo’s face the whole time, trusting Gyunghui to keep the candle and the sticks of incense balanced in his palms.

And when Siwoo coughs up his azaleas, they’re brown and dead. He disposes of them and goes out to the porch to cry. Taeyong waits a few minutes, and then follows. He sits down beside him on the front steps, silent.

“Her name is Hana,” Siwoo says. “Everyone has a crush on her. But I love her.” He looks at Taeyong. “What’s your husband’s name?”

“His name is Johnny,” Taeyong says. “He’s been my best friend since kindergarten. I love him more than my life.”

“If you had this cure, do you think you could’ve ever gotten over him?” Siwoo asks.

“I don’t know,” Taeyong replies honestly. “Maybe. I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, so perhaps not. But I remember thinking I would be okay with loving him and getting nothing in return, if I wasn’t dying for it. Is that how you feel?”

Siwoo shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “But at least now I have the time to figure it out.” His eyes flick back to Taeyong’s. “Thank you.”

“I’m just glad we could help,” Taeyong says. “Even though the first time went poorly.”

Siwoo gives him a sort of lopsided grin. “Tell your husband he’s lucky,” he says. “You’re too kind for your own good.”

Taeyong just laughs. “So I’ve been told,” he says, tone dry.

= = =

Gyunghui has been sending their work off to academics to get it legitimized so it can become common practice. She’s put Taeyong’s name on it, but honestly, Taeyong doesn’t mind if he gets credit or not. It’s enough to pass Taehui on the street and see her smiling; it’s enough to know that soon, no one else will have to worry about it ever again. 

Taeyong’s nightmares are gone. He wakes up warm and peaceful, and goes to bed happy and comfortable. He has so many days ahead of him. His life is good, and he’s loved.

There are days where he sleeps late and Johnny wakes him with kisses, and the scent of coffee permeates the whole house. Johnny brings him breakfast in bed and Taeyong counts the freckles on his arms; they don’t get dressed until noon, and then they go to the market arm in arm to get lunch. Maybe one day they’ll have children, and those children will join them on these late morning walks. They’ll live without fear; they’ll grow and they’ll love and Johnny will be next to Taeyong through it all. Even when they’re old. Taeyong with his flowers, Johnny with his bakery. They’ll see a rosebush, and it won’t remind them of the thorns. They’ll catch the scent of lilies, and it won’t remind them of the blood.

Taeyong watches Johnny trace the lines on his palms. He closes his hand around Johnny’s, and bends to kiss his knuckles. 

“What?” Johnny’s tone is light and playful. “You look serious.”

“It’s nothing,” Taeyong says. “I’m just happy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(A/N): thank you for reading! if you'd like to read the alternate ending (sad ending), you can do so here! note that chapter 14 is very similar to the chapter 14 you read here, but it has been altered slightly for tone. I included it to help reorient you <3